The Many Rewards of Riga

Many years ago, I taught briefly in a yeshiva in Brooklyn. The Jews there were Litvaks, which means (loosely) their families came from this area. People also use it to mean "Orthodox Jews who aren't Hasidim." Like every religion, there are a zillion factions. In this case, Litvaks means "Lithuanian-style" Jews.

In any case, we hear more about what went down in Poland during WWII because Western troops saw it. Here, the Russians took over as soon as the Germans were chased out and there was no need for pesky Westerners to see or document how things went down.

It was just as bad.

I had harbored some thought of seeing some of "Jewish Lithuania" to see if the names were the same as the boys I taught, but... few traces remain.

To the degree that I only remembered that as I was leaving Lit and entering... Lat.

Because of the Schengen Agreement, Europeans and Americans can travel all over Europe without stopping at the border. So, though I've been all over the place, my passport was stamped in Germany where I made my connecting flight and then wasn't even looked at in Poland, Lit, or Lat. 

The Ukraine isn't part of that deal, so... see entries about six-hour border crossings. At least I have a little square in my passport to show for it. I kind of wanted those stamps, but I suppose it's much nicer to just go like you're driving from Seattle to Portland. 

Got to Riga in the afternoon. The bus station opens out into a tremendous, truly glorious fruit and vegetable and meat market. Huge, with farmers of all stripes. I bought a bunch of green-ass cucumbers and just ate them like bananas. Got some huge oranges too. 

Walking through the local markets and trading strange coins for fruit is one of my favorite things to do when I travel. That's become my "style" over the years. 

The apartment was far away, but not super-far, and I had a map already, and it was a nice day, and I had a fist full of cucumbers, so I walked. Very glad I did. So rewarding. This place is amazing with. glorious details on the buildings and art stuffed into every corner. It's like a tasteful version of Vienna, it's like being inside a dollar-store Fabrege egg.

And vibrant, busy people. It's a thriving capital city with enormous parks and spectacular architecture. Awesome transit system. Fat blueberries. Ripe strawberries.

At the apartment, I met my hosts: Lasma, Madara, and Pauls. Two women in their 20s and a seven-year-old boy who spoke perfect English. The place was enormous with huge, old wooden floors and doors and a high, high ceiling. I loved it.

Pauls wanted me to watch him play Minecraft and I told him I would if he could truthfully tell me whether or not the orange I was about to show him was the biggest he had ever seen.

I took it, dramatically, out of my bag and said, "Behold!"

He said it was just ok.

I watched him build a brick house for a while with a secret door.

Took a nap and went out without the camera to explore and orient for the next days. I had given myself the luxury of three days here to see it properly but also to start winding down for the upcoming return.

I love photo walks, but it's also very nice to just look and think and see. So, took a nice long looksee to the Old City and sampled its charms. Unlike many of the places I've visited (Warsaw might be the best example of the opposite of this), they've fully integrated modern shops and cafes into the Old City.

It's not like a theme park, it's an active, wild, district with all sorts of colorful restaurants and record stores and hotels and boutiques. These places just happen to be in centuries-old buildings.

Huge hypodermic church spires injected the skyline with Lutheranism.

There were at least three "American Motorcycle" restaurants, which cracked me up. This is where Europe comes for its hamburgers, I guess. If you have the money for a Johnny Rockets franchise, get over here right away and retire a millionaire in six months.

I found a Depeche Mode-themed bar and pledged to return.

Got some coffee at a hipster joint called Rocket Bean. It was expensive, which surprised me, but it was excellent, which surprised me even more.

Thought it might be funny and cool to see the new Captain America movie, so I walked over to an enormous theater and bought a ticket. I made sure it was in English. It was subtitled in both Latvian and Russian.

Older people speak Russian because the Russians used to run this place and they tried to eliminate the Latvian language. Crusading Christian knights trashing the place, Russians taking over, Nazis kicking them out, Russians coming right back.

The countries in the Balkans may have been the pieces empires traded and moved around to build themselves, but the countries in the Baltics are the board.

The movie, Kapteinis Amerika, was great. The ticket was less than a cup of coffee at Rocket Bean. When the bad guys say "Hail Hydra" the subtitles read "Slava Hidra" which, of course, made me think of Slava Ukraini!

During a slow scene, I went to the bathroom and got locked out of the theater. They lock you in and then, I suppose, lock you out. I thought about the train from the day before and how I had lost my cool banging on the walls. Stayed cool this time.

I must have missed a scene where the gang convince Hawkeye to join them, because by the time I found someone to let me back in, he was firing arrows at people. Hawkeye was.

Long walk home late at night, but not too late for the trio. They were drinking juice and talking about their boyfriends. Lasma is dating a local cop and Madara is dating a soldier. Both dudes are always off training. The cop, apparently, resembles Kristaps Porzingis, a Latvian who made it to the NBA.

People are always shouting "Kristaps!" at him from across the street. I couldn't tell if that was an issue or not.

Pauls was also awake. He told me when something falls out of your mouth and into your drink, the Latvian word for it is "ships." The crumbs in your drink are "little boats."

Super cute! I had big plans in the morning to visit the Art Nouveau District and asked them for tips.

They were like, "Boring! We call it the Quiet District!"

Fair enough.  In the morning, I would yawn my way to the Quiet District.